The Book of GRIM
by J. Hartin
Summary: John came here to hide in the evil of thousands of other evil men. He'll soon find out he can't run from hell.
1. New Arrival

The New Arrival

John awoke to the sound of a foghorn and gulls. He opened his tired eyes and scanned his small quarters. The small itchy blanket had again fallen off of him in his sleep and he again would be getting up cold. He swung his legs over the edge and dropped to the cold steel floor of the cabin. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and like everyday before for four years he asked the same question: _Who are you?_ He sighed and opened the hatch to the cold rusted ship's hallways. The squeaky hinges on the steel hatch sent a loud screech down the hollow corridor. Before long John saw the corridor bustle with slow, sleepy movement as everybody made their way to the breakfast hall.

John sat down next to Halloway and Markus who were both eating straight from the can. John noticed that a few more cans laid in the middle of the table. His stomach growled and he couldn't wait to eat something that closely resembled food. Only one problem, no can-opener. John grunted in frustration, a ship as poorly funded as this should still be able to afford a few more household commodities. John looked around the only people near by were his two acquaintances from maintenance. Their faces were buried in their cans. John tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as he jammed his thumbnail into the metal rim and ran it around until the lid came free. John didn't like pulling that shit anymore. It was hard enough to forget while leaving it all behind. John threw the lid away and grabbed a fork. His meal today consisted of canned spaghetti…that's it, spaghetti? John sighed and looked around. Risked my secret for disgusting spaghetti. John despised using his abilities, which spanned infinitely further from just opening tin cans. It was just one more reminder that he wasn't human. He was disgusted with himself. Maybe it was a little fun when it started at 23, but after five years of killing and hiding, he was ready to start new. And what better place to do so than the Gangsta Paradise known as Roanapur. What better place for a criminal to hide than among other criminals. John flipped open the folder again. He had collected the information on Roanapur for two years. It had been a central hub for the drug trades, Gunrunning and prostitution rings for several decades. Roanapur was connected with many major organized crime rings such as the Russian Mafia and the Yakuza Triad. It was a city run by crime, corruption and murder was a daily occurrence and money determined if you were a bum or a King.

John didn't notice the stocky weather-beaten captain as he walked into the breakfast hall with the megaphone.

"Attention crew." All eyes were on the captain including John's as he was eager to finally set foot on solid ground and begin his new life. "I need four volunteers to help me unload an unscheduled shipment." Nobody rose from their seat.

"Really, nobody's willing to haul their fat ass out of their seat to keep their job?"

A voice echoed from out of a crowd. "Look who's talkin' Ricky!"

The hall erupted in laughter and a smirk even formed on the captain's face.

"Fine. You, you, you, and you." A finger landed on John.

He sighed lightly and got up. His pack, which held all of his few possessions, he hefted onto his shoulder.

The salty ocean air was a refreshing change to the musky damp air of the ship. John breathed in the invigorating oxygen as if it were a drug. The other three "volunteers" were already positioned around the box hooking up the crane hook to the top. The job was fairly easy. The only reason the captain needed four people was to control the immense load as it was lowered onto what looked to be a military grade PT boat. John knew what was in the crate. He could smell it from the door. Pure, uncut, 100% Columbian Snow. This wasn't the first time either. Cocaine had been through this ship more than any other product. John wondered how many crewmen had skimmed off the top. John didn't bother thinking about it. Two of the boat's crew were on deck. One was a Japanese man who looked like he belonged in an office building crunching numbers than on a PT boat collecting shady merchandise. The other was a crazy looking girl no older than 25 wearing very little in terms of clothing and a weird tribal tattoo on her right arm. Two identical custom handguns lay in the shoulder holsters. But the most foreboding characteristic was her eyes. Without them she would have looked something near normal, but those eyes. He'd seen them before. Many times. They were the defining detail on only the most hardened, deadly killers. Only those who drowned their morality in blood had eyes as empty and emotionless as that. She seemed to be sulking around while the accountant was jotting something on a clipboard. After several minutes she noticed him, she locked her eyes with his with an unblinking glare. John didn't break the staring contest, but held his gaze. She raised an eyebrow apprehensively. Her glare then narrowed. She leaned over slightly and spat. The wad of phlegm flew from her lips to the concrete before her. _No respect_. The quick passing of a forklift broke their staring contest suddenly. John took this opportunity to disappear. He took quick pace with the forklift, keeping behind and out of sight. This was not out of any sort of intimidation, but he was not in the mood to be confronted should she gain the confidence John was so sure was there. The job went off without a hitch and afterwards John walked over to the captain.

"Hey, Cap, why drop it off here when they could just pick it up at the port?"

"What?"

"You know, when we get to the port they could have just got it from there."

"Johnny boy, we aren't going to port."

"W-What? B-But you said we were stopping at Roanapur."

"Uh, yeah, but I didn't say we were landing there."

"Ricky, you don't understand, I need to get to that city."

"I'm sorry John but we're turning around as soon as this deal is d—"

"God damn it Rick!"

"Look John just get a ride with them."

The captain stuck his thumb out behind him pointing at the couple picking up the shipment.

"I don't think that would be a good idea." John mumbled.

"Well I can't help you Jonnie, we are already behind schedule and I can't afford another strike on my record."

John heard the sound of a small but fast engine start up overboard. The PT boat was leaving. Time was running out. Rick gave him a grim look and turned to leave.

"Then I'd like to take this opportunity to resign."

A pause. He heard the PT accelerate.

"No need to be so formal. Fine. Sorry to lose you Jonnie but all the same it looks like you won't be getting off 'till at least the end of the we--"

The captain turned around only to find that John wasn't there.

John didn't have time to be discreet. The boat had nearly cleared the length of the tanker. He was soon sprinting inhumanly fast. The concrete ground cracked under his as he pushed off and gained even greater speed. Small details began to blur together and he felt the wind whip by him. He heard the loose straps of his bag whipped against his jeans and his black shirt flattened against his chest. People flashed by while exclaiming remarks of astonishment as he flashed by almost to quick to follow. John got ready to jump as he neared the edge of the deck. He looked over the edge and tracked the boat's movement. Suddenly the boat accelerated significantly and out of human range. Good thing John was John. He sped up to unparalleled speed and took one last look behind him. People were pointing and shouting. John was out of road. The boat was a hundred metres away. John had one choice. He vaulted onto the railing and leapt with considerable strength. He flew over the water catching his reflection in the water _Who are you?_ And aimed for the boat.

"It's like the entire world is making me bust out the super powers." John almost chuckled to himself. He had almost missed the boat but with a small contortion of his body he managed to turn himself back into its path. Ha! Gotchya! John landed with a crash, noting the huge dent he put in the deck.

"No chance of buffing that out."

The wind whipped through John's hair as he rose to his feet. He stood in the painfully noticeable dent with a diameter of around five feet. He turned around to find the tanker drifting in the other direction. The horn blared echoing through the air as if saying goodbye. John gazed long into the distance looking for the Roanapur skyline…Nothing. He would get there soon enough. Now all he had to do was relax until the reached sho--.

The hatch squeaked as the handle began to spin. John didn't have much choice but to make a desperate leap behind some large piping and stay low. He heard the hatch his open and heavy boots clang over steel.

"Ah shit." A low masculine voice was barely audible over the crashing waves.

"What's going on up there, Dutch?" The grouchy female voice was even harder to hear coming from just inside the ship. More boots clanging.

"Dunno what happened, but buffing this out is gonna be a bitch."

As I said

"Shit, what the fuck did that. Looks like a goddamn elephant landed on it."

Not quite

"Looks like we won't be taking any water-borne contracts for a while."

_No shit._

"I still can't see anyway something could have made _that_."

Boots clanged again and the hatch closed. _Just sleep John. You'll be there soon._ John closed his eyes and drifted away.

Author's Note: Hope you like the first chapter. Getting back to work on The After Effect too.


	2. First Blood

Whydidn'. **WAKE UP!**

John woke, quivering all over. He quickly gained his composure and rose to a crouch. He listened for movement. None. John immediately found that he was no longer out at sea. The PT boat rocked lightly in a secluded dock. John breathed a sigh of relief as he rose to his feet. The starry night sky was skewed by the large concentration of artificial light that hung over the city of Roanapur like a curtain. John hopped off the boat onto the creaking dock and drifted into the night. He padded down an alleyway until he made it to the street. The streets were quiet unlike those back home. He turned and walked leisurely down the way taking in the cool night air. This was the most peace he had felt in ages. _Maybe_ John thought _maybe I've finally found a place where no one will come looking for me_--*Click*.

John froze.

"Wallet muthafucka."

And the peace was gone. John didn't move, he stood with his back turned to the man. He felt the cold barrel Smack against his head.

"Move it bitch."

"Listen, I don't have a wallet you're robbing the wrong g-BANG!"

The hollow point punched through John's head and he fell to the ground. His head smacked face-first into the cold pavement and he relaxed. His head swam for a few seconds and he was disoriented but not dead. He laid still. He felt the mugger crouch over his body.

"Sorry, shithead, sensitive trigger. Damn, mufucka really didn't have a wallet. Sheeit."

John waited patiently. Waiting for him to drop his guard. Make that tiny fatal mistake. And he got what he wished for. He placed the gun on the ground to search him for rings or watches on one hand while the other hand searched his pockets. As the thug dropped John's arm he delivered a powerful jab to his groin. The thug fell over wheezing.

"Gah, fuck. What the fuck."

A hefty bloodstain formed on the man's groin. The spoke up over the screaming.

"I guess I ruptured your bladder."

A pool of blood began to form where the thug sat. The crying and screaming did not diminish. John picked up the gun. A 32. pistol. He thumbed back the hammer and placed it to the thug's forehead. He looked up at John. Tears and sweat ran down his face.

"Like I said. You robbed the wrong guy, asshole."

The gunshot echoed through the maze-like alleyways of the slum. Five minutes. John hadn't lasted here five minutes without killing someone. The gun dropped from his hand and he sat down on the sidewalk next to the dead man. He rested his head in one hand and sighed. He didn't want to kill this poor guy. The man just wanted money. John didn't need money, why didn't he just give to him? Idiot! After a few minutes he heard the faint echoes of sirens. He wasn't sure if they were for him but he didn't want to kill anyone else tonight. Just before he rose he pulled the bullet out of his skull through the hole in the back of his head. After he extracted the round the wound immediately healed over. Oh yeah, those sirens were for him. He saw the cruisers blazing up the small street. He sighed and with one last look at the thug he leapt into the shadows of an alleyway.


	3. The Behemoth

John's eyes quickly adjusted to the blackness. The cold brick and asphalt echoed with heavy footsteps and the deafening silence amplified his breathing and even the dying wail of the sirens echoed through the extensive alleyway. John nearly sliced the bum in half who had been sitting in the alley who had let out a weak cough. He was asleep. The fact that he was there didn't startle John. It was the fact that he was alive. He was so used to seeing dead bodies that the faint signs of life he showed startled him. If he had a heart it would have been pounding. The last few months had left him paranoid. All the running. Not from people. John could handle people. It was the running he had been doing from other things. Things that shouldn't walk the human plane. Things that wanted to take back what was theirs. John pulled two fifties out of the inner lining of his coat and placed them in the open hand of the homeless man.

He soon arrived on the other side of the unusually long alley. He still felt that tinge of heightened sense that he got when he was around what he perceived to be danger. The streets lights were depressingly dull but comforting. John hoped he was done running. Maybe his evil would be masked by the evil of a thousand other souls. Evil? Was that what he was? John resigned to that truth. While he was trying to turn over a new leaf, he couldn't just forget what he had done in the past.

John soon came to a warmly lit bar in a relatively shitty part of the city. _The Yellow Flag._ John mouthed the name. He chuckled at the slightly misleading name. Why not something a little more violent? John could tell from the profanity he heard from a multitude of drunken louts that it was a dangerous place to be. It didn't bother him. He could handle danger. He pushed through the front doors lightly as to not attract too much attention to himself. As it was many still glanced up to see who had entered. He eyed the inhabitants one at a time, just a quick glance, just to see who looked like they wanted to kill him the most. He could see their evil, wafting off of them in clouds, filling the room. John hated it, he wanted to leave but knew that this very evil was his camouflage. His eyes then fell upon an oddly dressed Asian man sitting at the bar, at least oddly dressed for this particular setting. He wore a dress shirt and tie, but perhaps the most bizarre thing about him was his lack of evil aura. While everyone else gave off the aura to some degree, he was completely void of it. It was odd, then that he would be talking to someone like-. He then quickly registered the individual sitting next to him as one of the "staff" that were on the tanker picking up the shipment. He hadn't gotten a good look at her from the top deck, but he remembered the intricate tribal tattoo on her right shoulder. What he failed to see that day was her apparent interest in firearms. Two custom handguns John couldn't recognize hung from shoulder holsters at her sides.

He slowly made his way to the bar and sat down. It was the first time he had even partially relaxed in months. He wanted to close his eyes and rest. He lowered his head and drifted into a half sleep when a loud smack on the bar woke him.

"You drinkin' or leavin'?" He looked up into the ugly face of the bar keep.

"What?" John asked wearily.

"I said if you ain't buyin fuck all then get the fuck out."

John was far from willing to get into a bar fight and decided to humour him.

"Give me Bacardi. The whole bottle." He slapped down two fifties.

The barkeep eyed the two fifties. "I ain't givin' ya change."

"Whatever."

He took the bottle and drained half before he put it back down. He heard chuckles from down the table and turned to see the tattooed girl grinning impishly at him. Oh yeah she was evil, no doubt. Her eyes had the weariness of a killer. He saw it all the time. He felt sorry for her. She finally spoke up.

"You gonna finish that?"

He glanced over briefly before sliding the bottle down to her. Through the corner of his eye he could see that his sudden relinquishing of the apparently ever-valuable booze surprised her. He leaned over the table wishing that he could get drunk, but no, a downside to his supremacy was his inability to be intoxicated by any amount of alcohol. He just sat there with his throat burning and the liquid being absorbed into his form. He swam in his thoughts for a few minutes hoping the fucking barkeep would leave him alone. Then he got the feeling. That awful, chilling death feeling. The bar doors squeaked open again. Every other sound in the bar faded to John's ears all he could hear was the footsteps coming closer. Each thump got louder. It was them. He didn't get away. They found him again. The man sat down next to him. Or at least it was dressed like a man. The bar stool squeaked as it rotated. John knew it had turned to face him.

"Feeling a bit under the weather, John? You look pale.

John's face broke into a huge smile. "Christ."

The man emitted huge deep a laugh and slapped him hard on the back.

"Johnny, ya fleein" bastard you've been gone so damn long I almost didn't recognize ya."

"Shit, you scared the hell out of me."

"Yeah, yeah. Barkeep rum, a lot of rum." Max rubbed his hands together. "I am getting piss drunk and don't ya stop me."

"You really got to stop making those entrances."

Yeah I know. You thought I was one of _them_ din't ya.

"No shit, you smell as bad as them."

Max was a tall heavyset man. His thick beard was pitch black as well as the hair left on his head. He wore an old black sweater with the sleeves bushed up to his forearms. His thick arms got John into a headlock for the insult and a muttering of how much Amy had been missing him. His Irish accent bellowed profanity and the smell of rum as he spoke.

"How ya been, lad."

John simply gave Max a grim look.

"That bad eh?"

The girl spoke up.

"No shit, nobody without big problems drinks as fast as he did."

Max bellowed another laugh and spoke with slurred words.

"And who's this lovely lass?" Max joked

"None of your business old man." The girl challenged him with a grin.

Max wasn't about to be beaten.

"Well then can I at least ask why ya carryin' around them little wee pea-shooters then? Ya want ta see a real gun?" Max grabbed his groin.

A heavyset African-American sitting next to her chuckled. The girl's grin went from impish to evil as she drew one of her guns. Max chuckled.

"What ya gonna do lass? Shoot me? Oh I'm shakin' I'm damn near 'bout ta piddle."

John knew Max would be fine but the last thing he needed was a gunfight. He grabbed Max's shoulder and sat him down.

"Relax, lad, meant nuthin' by it. Just wanted ta show the lass a good time."

"Just try it St. Patrick." She said, her grin widening."

"Saint? Oh, lass ya couldn't be further from tha truth."

John spun and landed a heavy punch in the back of his head. Max cringed and turned to him.

"Aye lad, aye. I'm done."

"Good, you damn drunk. Don't get loose lips."

"Hahaha when was the last time you said that to me?"

"Pretty sure it was the last time you spoke."

John laid down few fives as a generous tip and they both left.

"Where to?" John said.

"I got a room at a hotel, we'll go there, but first I'm takin' a leak."

Max waddled over to a car and unzipped. He was glad Max showed up. He felt a little strain subside knowing Max was backing him. John's thoughts were broken when he heard a scramble back at the car." The black man he had seen in the bar had Max in a choke hold. Max was laughing the whole way.

"…thinkin you can just piss on my car?"

Max swung his body around and smashed the black man against the car. Then he grabbed him by the vest and lifted him off his feet.

"Oh yer a funny man, ain't ya." Max balled his hand and swung back for a fatal punch.

John's knee connected with Max's groin knocking the wind out of him and cracking the ground beneath their feet. Max dropped the man and fell to one knee.

"Oooy, lad why'd ya go *gasp* and do 'at?"

"Shut up, shut the fuck up."

The black man rose to his feet and landed a solid upper cut to Max's jaw. He stumbled back in a drunken haze. Even so Max was at least two feet taller than his adversary and John knew how this would end if he didn't intervene. He rushed between the two.

"Ok, ok he gets the point, we're outta here."

"Like fuck you are." A calm and very evil voice whispered behind him.

He felt cold steel against his neck and heard the hammer of a custom handgun.

"Wait, wait, WAIT!"

"Oh, just let 'em lad." Max slurred.

"Shut up, ok, ok just listen, he's drunk, he doesn't know what he's doing, just give me a break and let me take him home."

He studied both the black man and the angry gunner. He could tell by her expression that she had the full intention of blowing them both away. The man rubbed his eyes working through his own dwindling drunkenness.

"Why don't we just go back inside and drink some more?" John said desperately trying to diffuse the situation.

He heard the gunman chuckle and press the gun harder against his head.

John spoke again. "I'm buying."

The gun immediately dropped and John relaxed.

The man grinned. "Ok, man. But you better have a heavy wallet."

Author's note: I figure I should throw this in: **I do not own Black Lagoon**. Sorry it took so long for the second chapter. Hope you enjoy it.


	4. Welcome to Lagoon Company

Max snored away slumped in a chair as John spoke with the man known as Dutch in The Yellow Flag bar. To keep Revy happy, John paid for her obscenely large number of drinks. Dutch explained how he ran an international courier business based in Roanapur.

"So you're a bunch of pirates?"

Dutch chuckles. "No fooling you huh?"

"Not easily."

Revy spoke up. "So what the fuck do you do then?"

"Well, Revy I'm a free agent." John said nonchalantly.

"So unemployed then." She laughed.

"No fooling you either then." John said submissively.

Revy cracked a huge grin and ordered more drinks. As she downed another she asked. "And what about Fatass."

John turned to Max who was still slumped in a chair passed out. "He is…also a free agent."

"Yeah…'course he is." Revy chuckled.

Revy was getting pretty affectionate with Shirt-and-Tie sitting next to her. She had an arm around him as she knocked back drinks and pulled him close when she was about to fall off the chair. He was looking pretty tipsy too. John spoke up, feeling a little more comfortable.

"You okay over there Shirt-and-Tie?"

The man looked over swaying a bit in his seat. " *Hic* what?"

His face wash flushed red and his eyes were heavy and dark. Revy laughed and leaned on him pressing him further off the stool. She wrapped an arm around his neck.

"This here's Rock. He's the fuckin negotiator." Rock just stared and swayed.

"… Sure is silent for a negotiator."

"Doesn't say much when he's wasted?"

John took this into account and sipped his first and final drink. Revy and Rock stumbled out into the street. Dutch tried to help John pull the sleeping Max from his slowly warping chair to no avail. Sweat formed on both their faces as they wheezed and pulled but he wasn't leaving that chair anytime soon. The bartender John had come to know as Bao spoke wearily.

"Just leave him here, come pick him up in the morning. Fuck, his stink alone guarantees the bar's security."

John laughed and waved goodbye.

"Thanks Bao, will-do."

They stepped out onto the street. While John was reasonably sober, the rest of them were completely wasted, save for Dutch who looked like he could still comprehend his whereabouts. Suddenly John's heart sank.

"Shit."

"What's up?" Dutch mumbled.

"Only Max knows where the hotel is, I'm such an idiot."

"Well, shit I guess you can just come stay at the office for tonight."

Without a moments hesitation John gratefully obliged. When they got into the office, John was greeted by the sounds of panting and moaning coming from one of the rooms. Dutch didn't seem to notice, or if he did he paid no mind to it. John stopped at the door which was open just wide enough for him to see Revy's naked form being taken from behind by Rock. She was pressed up against a dresser, banging it against the thin walls of the room. She was panting and screaming, covered in sweat and buckling at the knees.

"You better fucking wait for me this time, cowboy." She panted. Rock let out an exhausted moan and kept pumping.

It was at this time John found out the hard way that even during sex, Revy tended to keep her guns strapped to her shoulders. He hadn't noticed before for obvious reasons and almost quicker than he could react, she pulled a cutlass and fired right at him. The bullet tore through his cheek and wedged itself between his last bottom and top teeth. John's ears were ringing and his vision was blurred.

"Eyes off fuckface!" Revy screamed angrily and she continued to unload rounds through the door. John had rolled away from the door and pulled it shut. Dutch who failed to notice the massive tear in John's cheek pulled him to his feet. Mostly because he was drunk and John avoided revealing a direct look at his face, he was able to escape to the bathroom. He unwedged the bullet from his jaw and dropped it into the sink allowing it to rattle into the pipes. He looked over the wound in the mirror. The tear went right up to his left ear, explaining the ringing ears. He let out an exasperated sigh as he watched the wound close, heal and soon become a mere ache in his jaw. It was then he heard a second *clink* and looked down. His body had worked a second bullet out of his chest and he watched as it rolled to the centre of the sink before descending into the depths of the plumbing. Shit, she was trying to kill him. Evil, evil as they come. He tiptoed out of the bathroom and found an empty couch that he would make his bed for the night.

The next morning, John was up first. His coat slid off him as he rose from the couch. In the brighter setting John was able to take in his surroundings better. The office looked plain, although more like a regular apartment. He looked over at a table covered in bottles and booze stains, but what interested John the most were Revy's handguns. Two Custom Beretta 92FS Inox. He picked one up, examining it; a work of art. He really wanted to fire it, see how it handled, however his hopes were dashed as Revy's deceivingly powerful grip wrapped around his wrist. She wore nothing but a towel and panties. Her eyes were bloodshot and she definitely didn't look happy. Her eyes bored holes in him as she growled.

"Listen asshole, I might have been drunk last night but today I'm hung the fuck over and I hate it when people try to play with shit that ain't theirs. So why don't you just take your faggot-ass hands off my guns while their still attached to your wrists."

John blankly stared and let the gun fall from his hand. It fell into her hand and she threw his arm down. Their eyes never unlocked as a knock resonated from the front door. Then nothing. A second knock. Revy didn't move.

"You gonna get that?" John asked.

Revy didn't answer. She just kept giving him the same cold expression. Her eyes looked tired. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, but her eyes showed blood in them. She had been through hell that was as plain as day. Another knock, this time louder, not aiding Revy's hangover in the least.

"Rock open the fuckin' door!" She roared not taking her eyes off or John for a second.

A few seconds later, Rock slid out of his room and hurried to the door. He opened it just quick enough to receive a fist directly into the forehead. He fell on his ass holding his forehead."

Ooh, sorry, lad. I'm a wee bit slow in the reflexes. Max said wearily.

Max walked in to the apartment looking around curiously until his eyes landed on John.

"Johnny-boy, do ya have the tiniest clue how long it took me ta feind ya? Comin to this house wasn't no stroke a' luck, I been ta ten different shitholes before I got here."

"Sorry, Max but we weren't likely to get you out of that chair any time soon." John said.

"Hahaha. Aye, lad, aye." Max bellowed. "Anyways, I got good news."

"And what's that?" John asked curiously.

"The lass is comin' to Roanapur." Max whispered.

Johns face lit up. The lass he was talking about was Amy. She was everything John loved. He never showed much emotion but if there was one person he would truly open up to it was her. She was one of two people, Max being the other, who knew what he was and she accepted it without hesitation or denial. She didn't think any less of him when she found out either.

"She's coming? She's really coming? You're kidding!" John was excited.

"Aye, lad, just one catch."

John's expression faltered. "What do you mean?

"She's bringing the book."

John's expression slackened to a casual seriousness. The book, the reason for all of this. The running. The hiding. Everything he ran away from was spawned from the pages of that book.

"Don't worry, lad. Just a precaution."

John nodded silently. Without warning the office door opened and Dutch stepped out. After a second of viewing Rock sitting on the floor holding his forehead, Revy half-naked still partially staring John down and Max staring back at him with a raised eyebrow, he spoke.

"Lagoon Company! We've got a job."


End file.
